


The War is Over And We Are Beginning

by caswella



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fix-it fic, M/M, Post Season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswella/pseuds/caswella
Summary: “It’s fine.” He’s quiet, taking Lance’s hand, moving it away from his face and holding it - Lance lets him, regardless of how his stomach is a tumultuous ocean, with a storm brewing in his chest that promises to capsize the floating wreckage of his heart.Time heals all wounds.





	1. in our bedroom after the war

**Author's Note:**

> *major character death refers to ... you know ...

Every day Lance wakes up and looks in a mirror he sees them. Those marks on his face that remind him of what he’s lost.

One time he scratched at one, trying to feel a rise on his skin as if they were temporary, but they blended in seamlessly, now a part of him forever, always with him - just like Allura said.

He goes back home because he doesn’t really know what else to do. He’s hollow.

 

A few days later he gets a call from Coran. Lance feels some of that hollowness dissipate before slamming back in like a hurricane.

“Lance, it’s so good to see you.”

He’s been in his room for ten days, only leaving for food and bathroom breaks and nothing else.

It’s a mess, with his clothes covering more floor than not, and an overflowing garbage can filled with any and all junk food, water bottles half empty, littered throughout every surface.

Subtly, he turns the comm more directly towards him and hopes that the chaos he has surrounded himself in isn’t noticeable to Coran.

“It’s good to see you too, Coran.” It doesn’t come out nearly as enthusiastic as he wants, but he’s lost a lot of energy for things like this - for old friends, old comrades.

Then Coran’s smile lessens, his eyes furrow and Lance can see it. He can see Coran working out what he wants to ask and Lance knows exactly what it is he’s going to ask.

“How are you holding up?”

Despite the loaded question, Lance still feels struck. Because he’s still processing, and he doesn’t know what else there is to do but to wallow for what could have been - and here Coran is, voicing the one thing that Lance had an answer to - because _isn't_ Lance holding up. At all. He's spiralling.

“I’m okay.”

Maybe one day, it will be true.

 

It comes true.

Month after month, he feels his hollow chest grow back piece by piece, like a burnt-out tree coming back to life, slowly but surely.

 

Keith comes to visit.

Lance tries not to let it show on his face how surprised he is - it’s been months but he looks the same, yet different. That smile on his face is small but comforting. Lance forgot it is only a recent phenomenon. He’s wearing the Blade suit, something that Lance feels like he hasn’t seen in years, but always knew looked dark and dangerous on him. Not bad, just different.

Keith was always different.

“Hey.”

“Hey, man.”

They stand in front of each other, too far apart. He feels like everyone checks up on him nowadays. First Coran, then a call from Hunk, Pidge, Shiro. All within days of each other - and still coming after months.

But this is the first time he’s seen Keith.

And for some reason it leaves him breathless.

He’s aware of his dirty overalls, and the dirt on his face. He’s been planting Altean Juniberry flowers after Pidge had sent what seemed like shipment after shipment. They’re beautiful, and they make him feel closer to her, but leave a bittersweet feeling in his mouth.

Keith looks around then, at the pink and red fields filled with the constant reminder of her - and he looks back at Lance and his eyes seem to stare straight through him, then dart down to where Lance knows the markings are.

Sheepish, he looks down, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like he’s been caught in a web that he’s made himself.

There are so many things he wants to talk about, so many things they need to catch up on.

“Farmer, huh?”

Lance looks back up, to see Keith’s resigned face - he’s looking back at the fields as if working something out in his head, and Lance wants to know what it could be, but is afraid that whatever it is might break him and the fragile pieces he’s build of himself.

“Yeah. It’s quiet - I need quiet, right now.”

Keith nods as if he could understand - and maybe he does.

 

It’s just them in the house right now, sitting in the kitchen and two cups of lemonade in front of them, untouched and dripping dark circles into the wood. Keith has hardly looked at him, and Lance hasn’t done much looking at Keith either. His eyes would always dart to him before turning back to his folded hands in his lap, trying to work out words but always falling short.

“It’s pretty here. I think she would have liked it.”

And damn. Right out of the gate. He hasn’t really talked about her to anyone, not even when Shiro tried to pull a big brother act on him, not even when Coran wistfully reminisced on their last call, tearing up, trying to evoke some kind of emotion in Lance.

“Hm.” It’s been months, but he still needs more time.

The silence falls again. The fridge starts to hum, breaking the silence, and this time when Lance chances a look at Keith, Keith is already looking at him.

“You want to go somewhere with me?”

It’s out of left field, and Lance perks up at the question, mood going from somber to inquisitive in a second. “With you?”

The shrug of his shoulders suggests that Keith’s flying by the seat of his pants, but he always has. Lance knows this about Keith. He is the type of person for action, not for talking. In some ways, Lance appreciates that. He’s always been a talker himself, but lately he’s done less of that, almost forgetting how to form words and sentences and coherent thoughts without blanking and feeling overwhelmed.

So he could do action. He’s always thought he could do both in equal parts.

But right now, action might be what he needs.

 

It’s been a long time since he’s flown in a lion. It’s jarring. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating.

Maybe Keith knows this since he keeps looking behind him to watch Lance as if waiting for a reaction, but all Lance is willing to give is a small smile. He remembers these feelings, but it feels dull, subdued. He can only give a little, but it seems to be enough for Keith because he smirks and turns back to the controls, a devious smile on his face, “hold on.”

The cabin turns upside down, and Lance holds onto the back of the seat, and he’s screaming Keith’s name, heart beating loudly, hurting his chest.

They’re going somewhere - Lance doesn’t know where, and about an hour into their trip Keith finally lands the Black Lion. Lance is still gripping the back of the chair like he’s glued there. When he’s finally able to soften his hold he realizes that some of Keith’s hair is also in his grip, crushed in his hands where he had been clutching at the headrest.

He lets go, dropping his hands and taking a step back, “sorry.”

“It’s fine.” And he doesn’t seem mad about it, in fact, he still has a smile on his face, small but there - like a firefly, flitting in and out of his face but still bright enough that Lance can’t look away. “Let’s go.”

They walk down the ramp, and Lance sees the beautiful forest, and the cliff they have landed on overlooks a waterfall that sprays mist in the setting sun, a colourful rainbow in the water droplets.

“This is-”

“Nice, right?”

Keith is giving him a look, hands in his pockets and looking like he’s trying to prove a point but not saying it, just letting Lance soak it all in.

Lance smiles back at him, his stomach swooping with something.

“The last time we watched a sunset was before-.” Before his date with Allura.

Keith doesn’t make him finish his sentence, just nods and takes a seat at the edge, feet dangling over the drop without a care in the worlds. He looks older, but calmer. He has less rage in him, less hurt. He feels like they’ve switched places.

“Yeah.” His voice is low, eyes trained on the sunset, “That was nice, too.”

Lance joins him, hands leaning behind him and gripping the plush grass beneath his rough and work-worn hands.

They sit like that for what feels like hours, until the sun starts to dip further and further, from deep yellows, reds, pink and orange to purples and blues. The stars come in, and the moon is half full but bright, and the sound of the waterfall is calming. Lance feels better than he has in a long time.

“Thank you.” The grass stains on his overalls remind him that he needs to get home soon, but he grips the grass in his palms and feel them tickle his hands and he doesn’t want to leave. He feels at peace here, like he can think without wanting to break down. He can think of Allura without it feel like one wrong step in his own head and he’s come tumbling down.

He doesn’t feel as fragile here, with Keith at his side and the Black Lion standing tall and proud behind them.

“It’s no problem.” He doesn’t look at Lance, but when he lays down on the grass and closes his eyes, he can see the light dusting of pink of his cheeks, “I needed a break, anyway.”

It’s said for Lance’s sake, and Keith does not understand how much that means to him.

 

It becomes a thing with them.

Keith visits twice a week and always takes Lance on some kind of adventure, but Lance will always privately think that sunset at the waterfall will be his favourite, simply because it was the first and also the first time he felt like he could let himself be happy and sad in equal measures without it tearing him apart.

Then it’s a year, and he’s - not perfect, but better. He can go most days even talking about Allura without tearing up, speaking of her with a fondness instead of a broken voice.

 

Their lions just… leave, and Lance watches them go, feeling his marks glow, and he thinks maybe Allura is watching them, giving him one last smile before the lions all drift off, no longer needed but waiting until they are again.

“Where are they going?” Pidge asks, voice teary, and when Lance looks over at her, he can see that she is furiously wiping her eyes, her glasses pushed up into her hair.

“Not far.” He says and knows it's true.

 

Keith knocks on his door, looking - looking hollow. Lance knows how that looks and his first thought is  _who did this to you?_ But then Keith looks up and but still refuses to look Lance in the eyes.

“Can we talk?”

The door opens further, an invitation. “Of course.”

Keith walks in. He’s outlined in the moonlight, loose sleeping pants and a loose red shirt. It’s late and Lance thinks he looks beautiful - then stops, horrified at himself.

 _It’s too soon_.

“The lions… I’m-”

Lance watches Keith for a moment, watches his clenched fists and the way he looks out the window where the lions once stood tall and proud. Keith looks sad. So goddamn sad and Lance wants to fix it for some reasons even though he wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing someone else when he’s still trying to fix himself.

“It’s over, for real.”

He’s quiet, and maybe it’s because it’s so late and maybe it’s because they’re both tired, but Lance takes a step closer, and another until he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Keith, looking out the same spot where the lions once were.

“What if we need them again? How will we find them?”

“They’ll come for us if they’re needed again.”

“I just - I feel-”

Lance places a hand on his shoulder, trying to convey all the things he can’t say. _It’s okay. Things work out. I’m here._

But he can’t say those things, it’s all stuck in his throat, and he has to swallow them back down. He feels like a hypocrite. Here he is, trying to comfort and take care of Keith when he doesn’t even know how to take care of himself.

“What… what am I now?”

Then Lance realizes. Being a Paladin means everything to Keith. It means a family, and it means finding his mother and it means _everything_.

And now he isn't a Paladin, he doesn't know what he is.

He bites his lip, then speaks, voice cracking but strong, “You’re Keith. You’re my best friend and the person who’s made-” He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air squeeze his lungs before the words he’s been trying to choke down come surging up, “you’ve made my life bearable. Just by being you.”

Lance takes a chance to turn Keith around, so he won’t look so haunted at the empty space outside. Keeping him at arm's length, he grips his shoulders and maybe he tightens them too hard but he needs to hold on to something; he needs to ground himself and he feels that Keith won’t mind. Keith looks scared, face flushed but mouth a tight line, ready for whatever Lance has to say.

With a newfound courage that blossoms from somewhere, he gives Keith a determined and hard stare. “Keith. You are _everything_.”

A sigh escapes his chapped lips, and Lance lets his eyes wander down to his mouth before shooting back up, feeling guilt and disgust with himself. He closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head - he’s - it’s - Keith needs him.

“Lance-” it sounds broken, it sounds raw, it sounds so unlike Keith that he can’t help but open his eyes and look at him once more.

The sight of Keith giving him that small smile does things to Lance that he can’t name because if he did then that would mean - it would mean -

“Thank you, Lance.” Then he’s hugging him, and Lance settles his hands underneath Keith’s arms. The arms that are around his neck and that are forcing Lance’s face into Keith's hair. It smells - it smells like generic soap and like sweat. Not like flowers and vanilla. It’s so different. But good.

Lance takes a step back and pats Keith on the shoulder, avoiding his eyes. He can’t look at him. Not right now - it’s too much.

“You can always talk to me.” He’s looking at the floor, doing a poor job of talking.

There’s a moment of silence, and Lance can feel Keith’s eyes on him. He can feel his confusion and he can feel his sadness and he hates himself because of it. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore, but he does and it’s - he’s hurting someone else because he’s still hurt - a cycle of hurt that doesn’t seem to have an end in sight.

“Thanks, Lance. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

And then Lance looks up and Keith is at his door, halfway out the door before he turns back, a small sad smile. It looks like resignation, “Goodnight, Lance.”

And because he doesn’t know how he can look away from that sad-looking Keith he nods his voice barely above a whisper, “Yeah. Goodnight, Keith.”

Lance goes to sleep that night and dreams of an Altean Juniper field, Allura sitting somewhere far off. He can never reach her.

 

It’s another month before he hears from Keith, and when he does it the middle of the night and something like a comet flashes across his bedroom wall - then a loud boom as something lands in the fields.

He’s out the door before any of his family members. He’s been awake, anyway. Another nightmare, but it means that he’s ready for whatever it is. He thought this stretch of peace would last longer; he didn’t think something would happen so soon and so fast and -

The pod is cracked, and Keith is climbing out of it before he collapses in the bed of flowers. Lance rushes to him, his feet are bare, and he only just realizes as he steps into the cold dirt that is kicked up and flung everywhere thanks to the crashed pod. Lance cradles Keith against his body and takes a look at him.

He’s hurt, scratched up and bruises. He’s passed out but breathing fine, if not a little shakily.

“What’s going on?” His brother Luis is behind him, panting and breathing hard from the run. Lance had hardly felt it - but now that he’s more aware he realizes that they’re far from the house, and Keith is hurt -

“Can you hold this?” His bayard is the only reminder he was once a Paladin, and the armour that sits in his closet. He had grabbed it before he even knew what he was doing. He gives Luis his bayard and picks up Keith into his arms, letting his head rest against his chest. He’s a little embarrassed about the position ( _bridal style hold_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies) but he has no time to over think it when Keith is hurt and unconscious.

The rest of his family are on the porch. His mother is shivering in her housecoat, hugging it against her body, his father behind her with a hand on her shoulder, and Nadia and Sylvio are hiding behind Lisa, while Marco and Rachel both look on with grim faces.

His mother makes an aborted gesture towards him. “Sweetie, what’s going on?”

“Tio Lance?” His niece and nephew say.

Lance ignores them and walks into the door, into the living room and places Keith on the couch, gently and with care. Without meaning to he brushes a piece of hair away from his face. It’s getting even longer, and he wonders if Keith has any intention of cutting it. He hopes he doesn’t. It looks good like this, despite all of Lance’s posturing, he’s always thought Keith’s hair was cool - it suited him.

“Lance - what is Keith doing here?”

“I - I don’t know.” They hadn’t seen each other in a month, and Lance so used to his presence after a year, found himself lost and without purpose for what to do. He would watch the sunset on the farm and feel like something was missing.

Keith groans and shifts. He tries to lift his upper body but plops back down onto the couch, a wince on his face, causing a small cut on his cheek to bleed anew.

Lance wipes it away, but the ruby drops well back up on the exposed line of his cheek and drip again. From over his shoulder, his mother hands him a tissue. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

He hears shuffling from around the house - everyone else has gone back to bed, and Lance feels himself sigh with relief at the prospect of privacy. He’s never… hung out with Keith in front of his family, and he feels there’s a specific reason for that but knows it would mean admitting that there is something to hide, something between them that is secret, private.

 _Intimate_ , he thinks with horror.

He’s pressing the tissue to Keith’s cheek when his stormy grey eyes open to look at Lance, wide and gaping like a fish. Lance smiles down at him and turns over the tissue when he feels a sticky wetness underneath his fingers - he folds the tissue and presses a cleaner side to Keith’s face, his cheeks pink the entire time. It’s like he’s cupping his face, the intimation of holding something cherished and adored.

Lance lets go like he’s been shocked, and the tissue holds there, stuck by the blood seeping through and so bright and so red that Lance has to look away.

His mother is standing in the archway, her eyes wide and seeing. _Seeing_ everything, like a conclusion has come to her and she’s witnessing something that is - that he’s been hiding away, trying to hold on to it for as long as possible because he feels like it’s still too soon.

“Thanks, mom. You can just place it down on the coffee table.” It’s rude. They have raised him better than this, but it's a dismissal, loud and clear. His mother doesn’t reprimand him. Maybe because, since she _sees_ now, she can tell how fragile Lance still is, even a year later, how confused he is, how scared he is.

She smiles and places the first aid kit on the coffee table; the contents rattling around in the metal bin. She kisses his head and gives him a _look_ that suggests they will have a talk later. It’s unavoidable. But that’s hours from now. She walks up the creaky stairs and Lance turns back to Keith, who is now holding the tissue and frowning.

There’s a distant rustling of leaves, and some petals pick up outside, and Lance can see through the window, they dance and sway in the wind, and he tries to ignore it. “What happened?”

Waiting for him to answer is like waiting for the end of the world. Lance feels… he feels skewed, tilted. Keith shakily lifts himself and sits up, laying against the arm of the couch and pointedly not looking at Lance, and instead staring at a rip in his Blade suit.

“Some Blades were captured by pirates for a bounty. Rescued them, blew up the ship, and then got into an escape pod.”

 _But why are you_ here _though?_  he wants to say.

Instead, he opens the first aid kit and sets aside the bandages and salves. He’s sitting on the ground, and purposefully so. He can’t be too close to Keith or else he’ll think things he’s been actively avoiding.

With slow movements he dabs salve onto the cuts on Keith’s face, then puts the Spider-Man bandage on the cut, smiling at Keith’s face and the superhero band-aids on it.

It’s slow and meticulous work, blotting the blood and servicing the scraps with a tenderness that Lance blames on the quiet and the time of night.

He’s putting the final band-aid on a slice, hidden near Keith’s jaw when Keith’s hand grabs Lance’s, almost no pressure behind the hold but it makes Lance feel trapped, anyway.

“It’s fine.” He’s quiet, taking Lance’s hand, moving it away from his face and holding it - Lance lets him, regardless of how his stomach is a tumultuous ocean, with a storm brewing in his chest that promises to capsize the floating wreckage of his heart.

They sit in silence for a moment, Lance trying to make sense of whatever is going on in his chest - Keith looks to be in a similar situation, staring at Lance’s rough hands - hands that have been working on the farm almost non-stop for months now. He used to be so worried about his skin. He took care of it diligently, keeping them baby soft and devoid of rough edges and blemishes.

Now that Keith is holding onto his hand he’s aware of how different they are, how there is an impressive callus forming near his pinky and chipped nails. He pulls away but Keith holds steady, his eyes obscured by his long hair, and suddenly Lance hates how easily Keith can hide with it.

“Just- just for a bit. Please.”

Lance nods once, mouth set in a hard line before he bites the bullet and moves to sit beside Keith on the couch. It’s too soft, so they both end of falling into the middle somewhat, but Lance makes sure the only form of contact is their hands. That’s as much as he’s able to give right now anyway, lest he breaks down should he try for anything more than he’s not ready for.

Keith doesn’t ask for anything more, squeezing Lance’s hand and letting his head fall onto the back of the couch like he could fall asleep right there. His eyes are already closed, his chest rising and falling, but he still has a tight grip on Lance’s hand, the only evidence he hasn’t drifted off to sleep.

“Hey,” Lance gently tugs at his hand, “you can sleep in Veronica’s room. Rest - here. For tonight, at least.”

Keith turns his head slightly. His hair is falling over the back of the couch in waves, and Lance can’t help but look at it, inky black against the cream white of his couch. His face is pale, but now marred by band-aids, and Lance sees the scar on his cheek and wonders if it still hurts if it reminds him of what happened.

Lance can’t look at his own face days without feeling like he will crawl back into bed and never leave.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, “yeah, of course.”

Keith nods, and Lance gets up, pulling Keith along by their still joined hands. The stairs squeak with every step, but Lance thinks most of his family must be asleep by now. He guides Keith down the hall to Veronica’s old room and stops at the door.

_Maybe you can put in a good word for me with that long-haired friend of yours?_

He remembers how vehemently he had protested, and now he feels awkward about putting Keith in her room - like by Keith sleeping in his sisters' room she would somehow… own him?

 _That’s ridiculous, he’s just sleeping in the bed_.

He opens the door despite the acid in his throat and gestures to the bed with his one free hand.

“Here you go. Bathrooms down the hall.” He turns to Keith, his fingers tingling from the pressure. “You’ll be okay?”

Keith nods, his hair lose and shaking with the movement, “Yeah. I’ll be all right.”

A small smile makes its way onto Keith’s face, and he squeezes one more time before letting go. Lance’s hand feels colder without the heat, but he puts the appendage in his pocket to make up for it, trying to hide the trembling he feels.

“Goodnight, Lance. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Keith. Sleep tight.”

Lance tip toes one door down into his own room, aware of having to slip past Nadia and Sylvio’s room. When he starts to close his door he peeks out, seeing Keith still in the doorway and smiling at him, a sweet sad thing that leaves Lance breathless. He waves, and Keith waves back.

Then Lance closes the door and crawls into bed.

He looks at his hand. The hand that Keith held. He clutches it to his chest and tries to fall asleep.


	2. not single day goes by where you don't cross my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Thanks to all the wonderful comments on the first chapter I was able to get this baby finished just in time! Thank you all so much for the love and support! 
> 
> Should I continue or are people sick of this already lol.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

Lance wakes up and realizes that he’s jittery. He hasn’t felt that in forever.

He doesn’t know why.

When he turns over his clock says it’s 6:17 AM and registers why. He can already hear his mother and father puttering around the kitchen - they’ve probably already been in the fields and did not bother to wake Lance up - for some reason this irritates him.

Just because Keith crash-landed in their field? Because his mother saw them last night? He can still work. He can still help. He wants to help; he doesn’t want special treatment because Keith made him - because Keith makes him feel-

Whatever.

He’s walking down the stairs and trips when he turns the corner into the kitchen - Keith with his parents, cups of coffee in their hands and talking, as if this is all a normal occurrence, as if Keith didn’t crash land and cause Lance’s heart to stir and as if Lance isn’t feeling like Keith’s presence is making him question his entire being.

They all turn to him and he feels like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes trained on Keith and his calm and soft expression in the early morning light. “Morning.” He says as if things are normal; as if Lance could wake up to this every day - and - he can’t - that -

“Morning,” He says instead, voice quiet and shaky.

His mother raises from her chair and Lance winces at the scrap on the linoleum floor. Without even having to speak he can tell she’s mad - or disappointed - or some kind of combination of the two that only a mother could be. He ignores the way she pours another cup of coffee and sits down beside his father, already covered in grass stains and smelling like hay.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

There’s a prolonged sip of coffee before his father gives way with a smile that’s soft. “You’ve been working non-stop. You deserve a break.” But what Lance hears is _need_ instead of _deserve_ , because even though Lance could speak both Spanish and English, he could also understand Parent, and when his father takes another loud slurp of coffee, he understands that it’s a demand, and not a request.

His mother places a cup of coffee in front of him, some splashing onto the table's surface - cream coloured and sweet smelling. Lance looks at his mother and feels guilty for how he treated her last night because despite being a good-for-nothing son, she still did things like this - motherly things that make Lance feel choked up.

When he had been in space, there were hours upon hours of dreaming about something like this. His mother and father in the kitchen, early morning light streaming in - and then his mother smiling while giving him his very own _grown-up_ coffee - with too much sugar and too much milk it could hardly be coffee anymore.

And now he’s aware that despite how bad he could feel, or how bad he could act, his mother still does these things - these small acts of kindness that make him want to cherish every moment he has with his loved ones.

And then there’s Keith, a convergence of these two things almost makes him reel. He’s wearing plaid - actual, honest to god _plaid,_ and boot cut jeans filthy with dirt and grass stains. And then Lance realizes -

“Did you help out this morning?” He takes a sip of his coffee and tries not to cringe at the overpowering flavour.

Keith has been resolutely staring at his cup since Lance has sat down, and Lance _was_ content to let him do it - but now he’s being addressed he looks a little bashful, the blush interrupted by the barely clinging on band-aids from the night before.

Keith lets his eyes wander to the left of Lance as if he can’t look at him and Lance feels irked by this - as if they hadn’t spent a good 20 minutes holding hands last night. And then he blushes at the memory because they held _hands_.

“I was up anyway - and I needed to make up for the crashed pod, so-”

“And you guys just let me sleep in. Cool.”

“Lance.” his mother says, stern and solid, and Lance slides down in his seat slightly, reprimanded - in front of _Keith_ of all people.

“Keith was rather helpful this morning, actually.” his father says, out of nowhere and leaving Lance with simmering anger he doesn’t know what to do with - it’s like it’s directed everywhere. His father. His mother. Keith. He doesn’t know where to put it, but he knows if he stays here he might say something else that will give him another dressing down, and he doesn’t need that. He’s an adult.

He slams down the coffee and gets up, rinsing it in the sink and putting it back in the cupboard. “Did you feed the kid yet?”

His father grumbles, shaking out the newspaper in his hands. “No. Not yet.”

He wipes his hand on a dish towel, movements harsh and purposeful. “Then I’ll do that, since I got a late start.”

“ _Lance._ ” it’s his mom’s _stop right there_ voice. He’s surprised she didn’t pull out his full name. He turns around and catches Keith’s eyes, feeling embarrassed that so much of his home life is being revealed to someone who has always felt separate.

But then again, maybe it would be too much in front of a guest.

“Why don’t you take Keith with you?”

“But _mom..._ ”

“No buts. Take Keith.” And that's the end of that conversation if he’s ever heard one. Is she getting back at him? Is he being punished?

“ _Fine_. Keith?”

Lance watches as Keith scrambles out of the chair starting for Lance before his eyes widen and he goes back for his cup of coffee and - and cleaning it?

His mother waves her hand, a smile on her face. “Oh, you don’t have to do that dear.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother.”

Lance rolls his eyes and walks out the front door. The cows are already grazing in the field, Kaltenecker among them, and Lance sees the damage the pod had done the night before in a clearer light. It looks like they tilled the small portion, and now it's less noticeable, if not a little sloppy because of the sheer size of the hole.

Now the pod is leaning up against the house, and he sees two of their chickens clucking and pecking at it, and one curious sheep trying to see if it’s edible.

“What did you mean by a kid?” Keith is standing beside him on the porch. His hair is tied in a low ponytail now, and Lance has to physically stop a blush from growing on his face because - it’s - _shit_ -

“I’ll show you.” The barn door is wide open, and when he comes inside, he’s greeted with the familiar scent - he didn’t know he would miss the smell of hay and manure until he only had recycled air.

There is a sharp bleat from further into the barn and Lance can’t help let a smile creep onto his face. In the last stable Clara, the new mother is trying to eat, and her two babies are valiantly getting up before falling back down on their wobbly legs.

From behind him, Keith lets out a little gasp, and Lance feels a surge of pride at the baby goats, like a new father.

“The kids.” He says as if Keith hasn’t already figured it out himself.

“They’re so small…” Keith walks into the stable and crouches down. Lance has been present for many animal births, and it has never lost its wonder. Every time he coos at the babies like they were his own.

He likes to think he would be a good father.

He looks down at his hands, a sudden tightness in his chest he can’t even describe without breaking down.

And then as soon as it comes it disperses; Keith’s huff of laughter like rolling thunder in the barn's silence.

 

Keith is trying to feed the baby goat in his lap, a look of panic on his face as the baby absolutely does not want to be held. Lance laughs at him, loudly, feeling his face pull in an unfamiliar stretch he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Here. We can switch.”

Batman is less fussy than Clara Jr - names in thanks to his niece and nephew, their incredible naming conventions having peaked since their adolescence. No one in his family has the will to argue with two ten-year-olds.

They’re sitting outside, covered by one of the few cherry trees on the farm - every year his mother would make the most incredible cherry pie just from his one tree alone, and he hadn’t had any last year since - well it was - days slipped by a lot.

Keith nods and carefully tries to maneuver Batman into Lance’s lap without the troublemaker darting off. Clara Jr goes into Keith’s lap easily, and when he settles in Keith gives a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing and picking up the bottle with a newfound confidence that makes Lance grin.

Batman settles into Lance’s lap - he has the magic touch when it comes to animals after all.

“Okay, now tilt the bottle slightly, and make sure you’re holding him so he doesn’t have to crane his neck too much.”

Keith follows his instructions to the letter; face set in a grim line, as if this were some kind of important mission, and messing it up could mean life or death.

Clara Jr wiggles in Keith’s lap, but otherwise stays close, sucking down his food, and Lance is so distracted by the sight that when Batman bumps his head into Lance’s sternum it surprises him. He can feel his face heat - because Keith looks like he belongs, and Keith looks so -

“ _Bah!”_ Batman knocks his head into Lance one more time before he goes about his task, dutifully feeding him while trying to calm his racing heart, hands trembling and mind going a million miles an hour - sick and guilt-ridden.

 

They come in for lunch just as Luis is driving up the dirt path, a pickup truck clunking along, dirty and blue and a sight for sore eyes. Lance doesn’t know how much longer he can be in Keith’s presence - this is weird, having him here, where his life has seemed to come to an abrupt stop. He’s used to soft voices and sunsets.

“Tio Lance!” Nadia and Sylvio burst from the back seat, Nadia landing on her feet and Sylvio tripping before catching himself. They run at him, and he braces for impact as Nadia jumps into his arms and Sylvio aims for his waist.

“ _Oof_. Hey guys.” They’ve gotten heavier and heavier it seems like, and Lance wonders when the last time he picks them up will be, and dreads that day.

For right now though, they are an excellent buffer between Keith and him.

“How was the market?” They’re scrambling up his torso like a pair of monkey’s, and Lance tries to keep a straight face, failing spectacularly. Luis hefts a small crate of loaves of bread and oranges and cheese - Lisa right behind him with a cooler of other perishables they had bartered for at the market.

“Good. Everyone was asking about you.”

Everyone always asks about him. He’s becoming sick of it.

“And you told them I’m fine.”

Luis gives Lance a pitying look, and Lance can’t stand to look at it, so he turns away from his oldest brothers face to see Keith hefting the cooler from Lisa’s hands, his sleeves rolled up and face shining with sweat. Lance thinks he looks good like this - hard worn. Hard work is something Keith never shied away from.

“Let me help with that.”

“Oh, thank you!” She brightens up, and Keith nods, face impassive save for the two blotches of pink on his cheek that show otherwise.

  _Always_ _the chivalrous type_ , Lance thinks, and scowls, hating himself for how it makes his heart flutter.

“Lunch is ready!” His mother is on the front porch, hair held back by a bandana and a rumpled and stained floral apron covering her front. From the open door, he can smell chili and cumin and wonders if Keith likes spicy food as much as his family does.

 

Lance is watching Keith, who is trying to steer the conversation he is having with Nadia to something less harrowing - he’s not up to date on most pop culture, so Nadia’s exuberant explanation about Frozen and Anna and Elsa are being met with disturbed eyes and short nods that Lance knows is to be more polite than affirmation to his niece.

And he’s also finished most of his chili, and his face is still red, his glass of water refilled three times. He keeps pinching his lips together, and then licking them, kittenish in appearance. It’s like he’s trying to cool his heated mouth and Lance, absurdly, wonders if he touched those lips if they would feel warm. He has to look away, his own flush on his face.

“So Keith,” Luis starts up, “what have you been up to?”

“Working with the Blades - The Blade of Marmora. Helping out colonies and trying to get rid of pirates and cults.”

“Oh,” Luis slowly side eyes his wife, and Lisa gives him a look back, silently communicating in a way that makes Lance both envious and nervous.

“Sounds important.” Lisa chirps, and Lance narrows his eyes - is this an interview? An interrogation?

“It is. But we have a lot of members, so I’m not missing much.”

Lance looks at Keith and thinks about his Blade suit, how it's ripped and how his face is, or was, full of scratches and bruises - the wounds have healed over in a night, but then again Keith had always healed quickly, probably thanks to his Galra genes, but Lance knows how much the Blade of Marmora means to Keith - Keith had thrown himself into the organization after the Lions had left.

Before, he left because he felt he didn’t fit, but now he's been forcibly removed from his paladin duties - Lance hasn’t felt the same sadness over the loss of stature, at least not to the extent that Keith has, but then again he’s had other things to be distraught over.

But he’s sure if he thought about it hard enough it would probably consume him - there’s only so much he can take.

“Lance, do you think you and Keith could go into town and pick up a few things for me? I’m missing some ingredients for dinner.”

Lance whips his head to his mother who is sitting at the head of the table. Her face is indifferent, but he knows. He _knows_.

“Can’t Luis do it?”

“Your father needs his help around the house.”

 _Of course_ , he thinks.

Instead of arguing as he wants, he grimaces. “Of course mami.”

“Can I come!?” Nadia puts up her hand like she’s in class, and Keith has to lean away because she’s so close to knocking him in the face.

Lance jumps at the opportunity, smiling at her and nodding, “Of course chica, the more the merrier.”

 

 _I learned to drive in this truck_ , he thinks, the memory of himself sitting in his father’s lap as he took the steering wheel, his papi controlling the gas. It’s a good memory, fond, and he wishes he wasn’t so dead set on forgetting them.

 _Doesn’t handle as well as a Lion._  He lets himself remember the controls, the smooth turns and twisted tricks he would pull. Then squashes that feeling too because his mind jumps to the Blue Lion and that -  

 _Damn._ That blackness ruins everything.

They’re driving down a long stretch of road - fields full of potatoes, rose bushes, grapes, corn, apple trees, and anything else his neighbours grow. It’s a scenic sight, but Lance keeps his face resolutely trained ahead.

Keith has the window opened, his hair loose but blowing freely in the wind and his head leaning against his curled fist. He’s looking outside, an expression far off and Lance wonders what Keith could be thinking. Lance wants to know what _he’s_ thinking, letting Keith come into his life like this - letting Keith create a space in his home where Lance is to - _grieve_ and _remember_.

If Keith stays any longer, he’ll be - Lance’s sadness will infect him. He’ll see how broken Lance is and think better of himself. He’ll decide that Lance isn’t worth his time and then there will be no more sunsets - those sunsets where Lance feels like he’s breathing again.

He shakes his head and grips the steering wheel tighter.

“Tio Keith?”

Lance almost swerves the car.

“ _What_ did you call him?” He yells, sounding much angrier than he means to, but it’s too late.

Nadia looks ashamed suddenly, and Lance can only see her through the rearview mirror but it looks like she’s two seconds away from crying. Lance has _never_ yelled at his niece before, not even after Allura di - after Allura was gone.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, the black hole growing in his stomach, all-consuming.

“It’s - It’s okay,” Keith starts, turns around with a gentle smile on his handsome face, “what do you call Hunk?”

“Tio Hunk.” She mumbles, hands folded in her lap and Lance - fuck Lance made her look like that.

Keith smiles and reaches back, his own hand eclipsing her own. “Then you can call me Tio Keith, too.” He turns to Lance suddenly, but Lance can’t look at him. He can hardly stand to look at himself right now. “Is that okay?”

Does Keith want permission to be called an _uncle?_ As if Lance had any authority on what his niece said?

For Keith to be called… that, would mean that Nadia is already attached, and she’s only known him for one day, not even - her first real impression is of Keith crash landing in their farm, and she's not scared of him?

Allura had visited and Nadia called her _princess_ the entire time.

His gut clenches, and the sign for the town whizzes by. Population: 10,587. Plus one sad sack of shit known as Lance McClain.

He sighs as the grocery store comes into view. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Nadia can call you Tio. I was just - just surprised.”

Surprised at the idea of Keith being _family_. As if Nadia is his kid and Keith is his - Keith is -

His hands tremble on the wheel, and when they get into the parking lot, he has to bite the inside of his cheek so he can focus on the pain, instead of the pain in his chest.

 

There’s always a crowd at the grocery store, so Lance dutifully puts on a hat and a pair of sunglasses. He’s been home for over a year now, and where he used to enjoy the fame and the notoriety, he’s less excited about it now - especially when people bring up Allura, the _revered alien princess_. They express their condolences and Lance has to smile and say _thank you_ as if he's at a funeral no matter where he went. It leaves him feeling bereft all over again.

Then he pulls out another hat and another pair of sunglasses and puts them on Keith’s face. While he’s sliding the sunglasses on, his hands graze Keith’s cheek. He ignores how soft it is. This might be the first time he’s truly touched Keith’s face.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want people to recognize us.”

“What does that matter?”

“Because I don’t want to be bombarded with questions and asked for autographs?”

Keith looks at him like he’s seeing a ghost - transparent and horrified.

“Seriously? You used to love that.”

Lance frowns because he _did_ , but things are different now if Keith hasn’t noticed.

“People change.”

Lance starts to walk away, but not before he can hear Keith mumble out a quiet and sad, "especially you."

Anger surges through him, but he walks into the grocery store, stomping and grabbing a basket so he doesn’t take a swing at Keith.

Nadia is trailing behind him, but she still seems sad, berated and quiet while she sticks close to him. Lance picks up two honeydew and shows it to her. “Check out these melons.”

For a moment he thinks maybe he’s fucked it all up, and Nadia will be sad and quiet for hours more - but then she smiles and giggles. “Tio Lance, that’s bad.”

He puts the honeydew back and ruffles her hair - he feels like a weight has been lifted. Keith is on the other side of the fruit stand and is smiling himself, and Lance rolls his eyes behind the large sunglasses on his face.

It’s a weird look on Keith, not _bad_ weird, just _different_ weird, but Keith had always been like that. Always different - always other. A genre all on his own. If people recognize Lance than they will for sure recognize Keith - the Head of Voltron, the half Galra, half Human Leader of the Paladins.

Lance looks at the list his mother had given him and hands it to Keith - his stomach is doing that strange thing where it feels like butterflies and acid simultaneously.

“Think you can find some of this stuff while I go to the deli?”

Keith nods, “Sure,” then he picks up two small watermelons, face straight, “are these melons good?”

Lance feels his face heat, a small, incredulous smile on his face because -

“Are you… trying to make a joke?”

Nadia is giggling profusely beside Lance, her hand covering her mouth and tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Keith looks as red as a tomato before he puts them down and shrugs his shoulder. “Was it funny?”

Lance lets out a huff of air, “No!”

“Then, no?”

Lance feels his face wobble, trying to keep his smile in check, then because he knows he can’t, he lets his hands cover his face instead, laughing quietly into his palms. Because Keith just made a joke. A bottom tier joke. A _Lance_ joke.

Lance goes over to Keith and grips him by the shoulder, “save the jokes to me, okay?”

Even though Lance hasn’t made a lot of jokes recently, but they are still _infinitely_ better than Keith’s.

Keith pouts and Lance thinks it’s cute - lets himself think it’s cute. “Whatever.”

 

Lance is holding onto Nadia’s hand and getting her to read out some items on the list while Lance holds the basket, and Keith throws the items inside. It feels domestic. It feels - it feels like his head is at war with itself because he _likes_ this - so goddamn much, but he needs to feel… to feel sad because - because of Allura -

“Oh my _god_. Paladin Lance? And Paladin Keith?” A woman in her late thirties is looking at them, and Lance grips Nadia’s hand tighter. Keith looks tired and already over this interaction with another human being. “Oh my god, I am such a huge fan!”

The woman takes out her phone, and Lance already knows what she’ll ask. “Can I get a selfie with you guys?”

Lance grimaces, “sure,” and lets go of Nadia so he can stand beside the woman, and Keith follows suit, though with a slightly less enthusiastic face.

As she’s taking the picture, another woman comes down the aisle, and then another, and then another and another.

 _Fuck, I knew this would happen_.

A simple two-minute encounter has now turned into some kind of meet and greet.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“What are the Paladins up to nowadays?”

“My condolences over the princess, Paladin Lance.”

And that one, shit, well that one makes Lance’s stomach clench and his heart to stop beating. He turns to the small crowd that has gathered and tries to speak loud and with conviction even though his throat feels scratchy and tight - like he’s one comment away from screaming.

“Sorry guys, but we really have to go. Got to get these groceries back home, you know how my mom is.” He smiles and tries to make it seem genuine. Keith looks like he wants to go to bed.

Once they’re out of the aisle and in a quiet part of the store Lance lets himself breath, hands trembling and heart stuck in his throat.

“Okay, so I can see why you’re not a big fan of that.”

Lance looks at Keith and forces a smile onto his face, “yeah, it was - it was different, before, you know?”

Keith nods, understanding - he wasn’t around for the shows and the impossible standards - Lance loved it in the beginning, but after a while it became tiring. Putting up a front, pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Fame and fortune were something he always wanted. And now he has it he doesn’t really know what to do with it. They would do shows on planets and then leave.

He still has to live here.

Lance shakes his head and reaches into his pocket for the list his mother gave him, then frowns. _Right, Nadia has it_.

“Nadia-”

There’s no one beside him, and when he looks to the other side of Keith, she’s not there either.

“Nadia?” He looks around him, and all he sees are people milling about. No children, and no Nadia.

Panic sets in. He feels like he’s submerged in water - cold and crushing. He spins on the spot and feels his body shaking.

 _No, no, no, no._ He had let go of her for a _second_. Because fans bombarded them and Lance was trying to be polite but now he doesn’t know where Nadia _is_ , and what if someone _took_ her? What if someone recognized Lance and thought it would be a good idea to take a Paladin’s niece?

_It’s all my fault, I should have been watching her. I can’t lose her too - I can’t - I can’t -_

Keith is in front of him - sunglasses and hat off. His face is close, concerned and scared in equal parts. Lance is no stranger to panic attacks, especially after Allura, but he thought he was _better_ , he thought it was a sign he's recovering, or at least taking a step in the right direction.

But no. It’s like he’s made no goddamn progress at all.

“Hey - Hey, Lance, look at me.” Keith has his hands on Lance’s trembling shoulders, almost touching his neck, clenching. His hands are rough, much rougher than Lance’s - and it probably has something to do with the fact he’s a swordsman, a close combatant. Lance remembers when he unlocked the Altean broadsword, and after two hours of practice, he had developed impressive calluses that hurt like hell.

Keith’s calluses are rough and don’t feel great, and the sensation against his shoulders cause such a stir in Lance that his panic subsides for a moment, flabbergasted.

“We will go to the front desk and make an announcement, okay? She’s probably just wondering around.”

Lance feels himself nod, focuses on the hands on his shoulders, but he still feels stiff, rooted to the spot. Keith rolls his eyes and takes the basket from Lance’s hand, then _takes Lance’s hand_.

“Come on.”

Lance only lets himself blush for a moment, too grateful that Keith is taking charge and letting Lance come down from his _almost_ anxiety attack. The last thing he needs is for someone to take a picture of the famous red Paladin breaking down in a grocery store.

He looks at their joined hands and tries to keep his head down.

And the last thing he needs is for a rumour to go around about the red and black Paladin.

“Hi. We would like to make an announcement for a lost child?” Keith is still holding Lance’s hand, gripping it tight; it’s the only thing that Lance can focus on - it’s keeping the panic attack at bay. At least he doesn’t have to speak, because if he did it would come out scratchy and quiet, like someone just learning how to talk again.

The intercom comes to life around them, “Nadia McClain, please come to the front. Nadia McClain, please come to the front, your parents are looking for you.”

Lance takes a chance to look at Keith and sees that his entire face is as red as a tomato. But he keeps his mouth set in a straight line, staring down at the counter.

“Tio Lance! Tio Keith! I got the rest of the stuff!”

Nadia comes running at them with a basket in her hands, full to bursting. She’s tipped slightly from the weight, but Lance is so happy to see her he lets go of Keith and falls to his knees and hugs her tight. Her small arms wrap around his back and Lance thinks he’s never been so relieved in his life.

“Tio Lance?”

“I was so worried chica. Never do that again, okay?”

She nods into the crook of his neck, squeezing Lance for all she’s worth.

 

Lance slows to a stop in the dirt driveway. He’s still a little shaky from earlier, but he’s coming down. Nadia jumps out of the car with a heavy shopping bag in her hands, climbing up the steps and running into the house, announcing her arrival for anyone and everyone that is home.

Lance turns the keys, and the engine shuts off - the metal of the keys jangle and clank together. It’s the only sound for what feels like miles. Keith is sitting beside him like there’s something he wants to say. Lance wants to say a lot too but is afraid that whatever he says will prompt Keith to close himself off. Lance has always done that; always said the wrong thing at the wrong time - ruins whatever moment he’s a part of.

And he doesn’t want to do that now - with Keith beside him and walking on eggshells around Lance like anything he will say will cause a mental break.

And Lance hates feeling like that too. Because he wants to feel normal again. He wants to feel like every breath isn’t a stuttery thing and that every exhale isn’t wobbly and broken. He thought he was getting better - but now he's realizing that it’s taken him an entire year to go from denial to anger.

Because he is angry. He’s angry that everyone is treating him with kid gloves. He’s angry with everyone, but mostly at himself and for how long it’s taking him to feel _okay._

But how can he say any of that to Keith? How could Keith possibly understand what Lance is going through?

“I miss her too, you know.”

Lance looks at Keith, eyes wide and feeling his heart clench in his chest - a wave of anger boiling in his gut and ready to explode out of him.

But then he takes a deep breath and tries to let it pass.

“I never said you didn’t.” He settles on, arms limp at his sides - lifeless, like a puppet.

Keith turns to him finally. His face is devoid of emotion, and whether that is a conscious choice or not Lance can’t tell, because Lance always thought Keith was the person to convey what he thought when he thought about it. He thought they had become closer - after Voltron and everything.

And then he realizes.

Did he do this to them?

Did their friendship suffer because Lance was too busy mourning - that he didn’t even realize that everyone else was in the same state as him, mourning as well?

“She was my friend too.”

“I - I know.”

“I just want to make sure - if you need to talk.” Keith looks uncomfortable, face now not as impassive, but a little pink and awkward. “You can always call me. If you want. Even when I’m away.”

Lance is a moment away from replying, nerves on fire and chest constricting in a familiar way when a loud  _bah_ interrupts them. They both look out the window of the car to the fields where the sheep are being trapped and herded by-

“Is that Kosmo?” Keith leans over in the cab, and Lance is suddenly very aware of his presence. He lets his gaze wander back to the fields instead of the collarbone that Keith has on display, face feeling warm.

“Y-yeah. What’s your space wolf doing here?”

Keith and Lance jump out of the car and walk closer to the field, stopping at the fence. Kosmo is teleporting back and forth to keep the sheep from escaping, and they’re forming a tight wooly circle and are hardly moving.

Lance can’t help let out a small, impressive whistle at the sight. “Whoa. Kosmo makes a good sheepdog, huh?”

Keith is shaking his head but smiling, a soft grin gracing his marred but handsome face. “Yeah. Guess so.”

They stay like that for a moment, the sun bright overhead when Lance sees someone from the corner of his eyes and turns to see Krolia - wearing Earth clothes that looks similar to what Keith is wearing. Plaid and denim and looking comfortable, like this wasn’t the first time she had worn such garments.

“Keith. I was wondering when you would come back to the base.”

Keith turns towards his mother, arms crossing in the signature expression of _closed off._ “Don’t you have a planet to lead?”

“Kolivan is taking care of that right now. Imagine my surprise when I hear my son isn’t answering his comm.”

There’s a moment panic on Keith’s face, then a cherry red colour that starts from his neck and goes all the way to his ears. Lance looks at him, eyebrows raising in confusion. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be missed?”

“Oh, did he?” A sly smile graces her face.

If Lance didn’t know any better, he could swear that he's missing something. Krolia is giving Keith a _look_ that felt not dissimilar to a look his own mother gave him the night before. It’s odd to see it so clearly between these two serious-looking people, but it warms Lance’s heart nonetheless - Keith deserves a family, out of anyone.

“You’re needed back at the base.”

Lance, absurdly, feels his heart sink. “Oh.”

“Krolia - Mom - let me say goodbye?”

She nods her head, then brings two fingers to her mouth and whistles - loud and grating. In an instant Kosmo appears beside her, panting and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“I’ll give you a moment.” Then she disappears in a flash of blue light.

The wind picks up then, blowing velvet petals and leaves all around them, and then one hits Lance in the face and he swats it away - Keith laughs, though it’s more a snort if Lance has to say anything about it. Lance looks at him, even eyed and feels like times stopped. They’re just looking at each other. Lance feels like he wants to memorize Keith’s face - because who knows when they’ll see each other again. A whole month had gone by - what if it’s two? What if it’s longer?

It brings him back to those days when Keith had left Voltron for the Blades. Months of silence - whispers of things that Lance couldn’t dare to believe. Naxzala? The Abyss? He wants to know everything. He wants to sit down and just listen to Keith _talk_ \- and he sees that image.

A sunset with just the two of them - holding hands.

He blushes and Keith raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. Just -” He rolls his eyes and coughs into his fist - feeling brave. Because maybe Keith just makes him feel a little more reckless? “I think I’m gonna miss you?”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to go red - it was always a good colour on him, and now Lance is learning that all too well.

“That - I mean - me too. I guess.”

“Wow, that must have been hard to say.”

“Shut up.” Then Keith punches Lance’s shoulder softly,  and it sets a fire in his stomach.

They stare at each other for another moment before Keith looks down at the ground. Lance takes a chance to look him over one more time. “You can keep the clothes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He wants Keith to have a reason to come by sooner rather than later. Maybe he can even help out again - and he would even have his own work clothes.

Keith smiles, hand holding the collar of the plaid he’s wearing, “Thanks.”

Lance likes Keith in plaid and denim - it looks rough and tumble and _good_. “No problem.”

“Keith!” Krolia is on the front porch and waving.

A flustered Keith turns around. “I heard you! One second!”

There’s a settling sadness deep in his stomach he doesn’t want to name. “Guess this is goodbye for now, huh?”

He sighs, looking resigned, “I guess. But I’ll call you. Or you can call me. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he swallows, aware of all the spit in his mouth suddenly, “of course.”

Then he turns and runs off, going behind the house. A moment later Lance hears the telltale sound of a space engine starting. The small ship takes into the sky, and Lance gives it a wave, not knowing if Keith can even see him but it makes him feel better anyway.

The spacecraft slowly rises into the air before shooting off. Lance watches it go, hand slowly coming back down to hang limply at his side.

He lets out a long sigh. Pink and red petals are kicking up all around him and swirling in the wind. He catches one floating through the air, holding the delicate stem and examining it before letting it float off with the breeze, a frown catching at his lips.

They never got to watch the sunset.


	3. somewhere only we know

Lance wakes up to a gentle knocking on his door, and before he can get up to answer it, his mother is walking inside, her housecoat wrapped around her and keeping her warm in the late fall weather. 

It’s so close to Halloween and Lance has not heard the end of it thanks to Nadia and Sylvio - not to mention the corn maze they’ve set up and the haunted house that Marco and Rachel are in charge of. It’s been pretty busy for them, and because of this Lance has had little sleep, nerves alight with energy. 

And because Keith hasn’t been by in three weeks. 

And maybe that’s the reason his mother is here now, shuffling into Lance’s room and sitting on the edge of his too small bed. 

Lance watches her, moonlight streaming in from his bedroom window and thinks about how much older she looks -  and of course she looks older; she’s gone through too much in such a short period of time, losing a son, gaining that son back, then losing him again in a different way. 

But Lance is the one that went through those things - he looks different too. 

What does his mother see when she looks at him?

She lets out a long sigh, and Lance has never felt more trapped in a place where he thought he was the safest. “We will talk about it, baby.”

He groans and rubs his hands into his eyes, squishing them and causing white dots to flash along his vision. “Do we have to?”

“Yeah, baby, we do.”

_ Where do I even start? _

“Can I -” Then his throat closes, kidnapping those words and all he can let out is a flat - “everything?”

The size of his room feels bigger as if he’s a kid again and his mother wishing him goodnight and shooing all the monsters away. As the youngest, he has never had a shortage of protectors - but back then it was easy to scare away the monsters underneath his bed. 

But what about the ones in his head?

Warm hands envelop his own trembling ones, and he looks at his mother through brimming tears. He hasn’t cried in a while - mostly because he’s forced himself not to - but it’s hard when his mother is here and Lance is so used to letting his walls fall down around her. A true mama’s boy. 

“No, baby, not everything, and not even to me, but to someone.” Then she gives him a small watery smile, squeezing his hands, “Maybe Keith?”

With violent movements, he lets go of her hands and throws his blankets over his head, like this is the only way to hide from the world, like diving underneath his blankets creates a force field around him, where nothing bad can get him. 

“Nope. No way. Not talking about this.”

“Lance, come on, I know you have fe-”

“ _ Stop _ .” Then quieter, softer, sadder. “ _ Please _ .”

That is something he can’t think about yet. Because it’s true. It’s _true_. It’s been true for a long time, a lot longer than he lets on, but how can he let himself feel these things for Keith when it’s only been a year since Allura? How can he let someone like  _ that _ go? Allura is -

Was. 

Allura  _ was  _ a goddess. 

And now she’s gone. 

And Lance has to live with that thought every day. 

How can he forget someone like Allura? It would be an insult to her memory. 

“Sweetheart. You can’t do this to yourself, you know that, right? Let yourself heal. Let yourself feel things for people.”

Pulse in his ears and heart trying its best to escape his chest, Lance shakes his head, feeling a headache forming at the base of his neck - the pressure to keep from crying like putting a lid over a boiling pot. 

“ _ Mom _ ,  _ please _ .” He takes a deep breath, voice cracking. “Not right now. I can’t right now. I promise I’ll do something, but please, I need more time.” It feels like an empty promise if only to get his well-meaning mother off his back. He’s been doing this for months now, promising he’ll talk to someone, maybe see someone professionally, but he’s always put it off, because it feels like he’ll be admitting defeat if he does - because he doesn’t want to share Allura with anyone else, all the pain and happiness makes him what he is now, and he’ll somehow lose it all if he tries to put words to what he’s feeling. 

How could he say this to some therapist?

How could some doctor with a pad of paper know what it’s like to be Lance?

There’s a distant sound of the rooster clucking and crowing, and Lance looks at the bedside clock - 4:45 AM. He’s been awake all night. 

His mother lifts her hand and gently touches his face, and Lance leans into the touch only because he feels vulnerable wishing he was a child again. There are unshed tears in her own eyes, and Lance hates how he does this to people, by existing.

“Okay baby. Take the day off, okay? Get some rest.”

The bed creaks when she leaves; the door whining on the old hinges as she closes the door, and Lance feels exhausted - missing Allura so much suddenly that it aches in his chest. They had no time. 

And now he’s here stuck on what time he had with her, thinking about what he would have done differently and what he would have said if he had another chance. 

_ Life’s not like that _ , he thinks, knowing full well the only thing he has now is time - all the time in the goddamn world. 

 

“Sylvio, would you hold still?”

Another pin falls to the ground and Lance pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing out a laugh. “Dude, do you  _ not _ want this costume?”

“No! Tio Lance, I’ll stay still, I promise!” Then he fiddles with the edge of his sleeves, “I’m just hungry.”

“Well,” he swoops in and picks Sylvio up, holding him underneath his armpits while his nephew screams and laughs at the manhandling, “why didn’t you  _ say  _ so? I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Halfway to the kitchen, he feels the comm in his pocket vibrate. As he takes it out, he wonders when the last time he talked to Hunk is, or Pidge, or even Shiro. After -  _ after _ they had tried their best to get Lance out of his shell, but it’s like they’re too busy now, and he’s no longer worth the effort makes something like fear pierce his stomach - his own sword he’s fallen on. 

Then he sees Keith’s name, and it’s like he’s on a rollercoaster, his nerves alight with nervousness and energy.

_ Hey, I’m stopping by, is that okay? _

And his heart upticks like he’s running a marathon, because of  _ course _ , Keith is the type of person to worry about stuff like that now. He didn’t care before, but now he does? It looks like Lance isn’t the only one that’s changed. 

He thumbs open the message and replies, hands shaking. 

_ Ya, of course.  _

And then he almost adds  _ I missed you _ but remembers himself - deleting those words as if he were a child and wrote on the wall when he isn't supposed to - hiding the evidence as if it were never there. 

Just writing that down - just seeing it sends a weird mixture of embarrassment and guilt through his gut. This is what his mother was talking about - this is what he’s been trying to avoid. 

The sound of a spacecraft shakes the house - Sylvio pops his head back into the living room, eyes wide and looking at all the china and fragile plates that shake precariously. 

Lance walks out of the house to see a small craft landing in his driveway. He eyes the truck that sits closer to the house and gives a small huff of laughter - no hope of leaving thanks to that huge spacecraft. 

Keith jumps out of the pod, and Lance refrains himself from running over and hugging him - it’s a physical ache in his arms and legs as if his body knows better and his mind is only playing tricks on him. Keith shuffles over, wearing civilian clothes, his pale face flushing when he looks at Lance and then back at the ground. 

What is that look about?

Lance puts his hands on his hips, if only so he doesn’t reach out to where Keith stands in front of him, so damn close, and tuck a stray piece of hair behind Keith’s ear. That would be -  _ yikes _ \- far too intimate for friends. 

_ But friends don’t usually hold hands, right? _

_ Shut the fuck up _ , he thinks to himself - a civil war going on in his own head. 

“Sorry I haven’t called - I tried to send you messages but I guess you never got them?”

Lance thinks about the hours he spent looking at his comm and waiting for anything to appear in his inbox. But it was just as empty as the last time he checked. Keith sent him emails?

“No, sorry.” 

Keith looks down with a small smile on his face, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Lance looks towards the sky then checks his phone in his pocket - it’s not even noon yet. 

“The sunset isn’t for hours dude, you’re a little early.”

“Oh.” Then Keith flushes even more and Lance can’t look away, his eyes growing bigger at the sight of the leader of Voltron once more speechless and floundering for words. 

“I just thought we would… hang out? Today?”

Today? Lance woke up this morning with no concrete plans in mind, only knows his mom gave him a day off and he’s not great with those - work distracts him from the worst of his thoughts, but with Keith here it’s like his mind is now full of  _ Keith Keith Keith _ . 

So maybe it’s not so bad that Keith’s here today, considering his presence alone makes Lance feel more at ease. Like Keith makes him feel like his old self. 

“Yeah, man. Of course. Anything special you wanted to do?”

Keith scuffs the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks, almost bashful and Lance wants to remember  _ this _ Keith for all eternity. “Doesn’t matter. Anything is fine.”

“Tio Keith!” Sylvio runs out of the door, his halfway completed Deadpool costume looks like it’s ten seconds away from falling apart, and Lance has one hand up to stop Sylvio from tripping and destroying all his hard work when a bright flash of blue blinds them. 

Kosmo stands tall and proud and Sylvio runs into his neck, face squished against the heavy blue fur there. Kosmo huffs and licks the top of his head and Sylvio lets out a cackling giggle that grates on Lance’s ears but makes him smile, regardless. 

“Whoa! Can I ride him Tio Keith?”

Keith looks at Lance and Lance shrugs his shoulders. Kosmo  _ is  _ as big as a horse. 

“I don’t see why not?” Keith then taps Kosmo’s side and the giant space wolf goes to the ground, and Sylvio climbs on, his face a mask of elation as the wolf lifts and trots like any old show pony. Lance would laugh if he wasn’t so terrified that the pins in his costume would prick the space wolf. 

 

“Keith! It’s so good to see you again!”

His mother fusses over Keith, and Lance takes a moment to step away, trying to calm his racing heart and learning how to breathe all over again. It’s like Keith forces his body to remember itself - as if he’s been offline this entire time and it’s only when Keith is here that he remembers that he’s alive too - he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could mean. 

If he knows his mom, she’ll be trying to feed Keith a ten-course meal, the same way she does when Hunk visits. Lance feels his pocket vibrate again and pauses, hand halfway to the door to the bathroom. 

He pulls out the phone and blinks at the message Shiro sent him. 

_ It’s Keith’s birthday.  _

Lance closes the door with an audible slam, bracing his body against the door and eyes wide and unseeing. 

It’s Keith’s birthday.

And he’s here. 

He wants to spend his birthday with  _ Lance _ . 

“Oh, my god.”

Then he gets a call, and he fumbles with the comm, holding it in front of his face and trying to smooth out the creases underneath his eyes but knows it’s a losing battle. They’re here to stay, it looks like. Just like the marks.

Shiro’s face comes into view, all business for a moment before his mask falls away and he looks - happy.

“Lance, it’s so good to see you. Keith’s there, right?”

How would Shiro even  _ know _ ? 

“Uh, yeah?”

He gets a sly smile on his face, and Lance is getting sick of people smiling like they know a lot more than him. “Don’t make a big deal, okay? I think he wants to have a quiet day.”

The  _ with you _ goes unsaid, but Lance hears it anyway. Because why would Keith want to spend his birthday with  _ him? _ Wouldn’t he rather spend it with Krolia? Hell, even Shiro?

Why Lance? And why now?

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll try to keep it quiet.”

After he washes his face and rinses his hands Lance walks out of the bathroom like this new information isn’t destroying him inside, wrecking and pinballing his heart from one side of his body to the other. 

Keith is dutifully sitting at the kitchen table, with Sylvio dressed normally and chewing his sandwich and talking at the same time - Lance gives him a look and Sylvio hastily swallows his food and gets back to the long-winded story he’s been telling Keith. 

He saddles up to his mother and touches her shoulder, leaning down and whispering, eyes on Keith. 

“It’s his birthday.”

His mother turns to him, hands busy washing and peeling the potatoes in the sink. She turns ever so slightly to look at Keith; overwhelmed by Sylvio’s exuberance the same way he was with Nadia. Lance finds it endearing and a little adorable that Keith looks out of his element when it comes to kids but appreciates his perseverance. 

“ _ Don’t _ make a big deal of it. He doesn’t like crowds and big parties.”

She looks at Keith again, then back at Lance. There’s a moment of tense silence between them - she’s used to big parties and loud birthdays, but Lance just wants something quiet, something small - whatever Keith wants. 

“Just a cupcake then.” 

He smiles and kisses her cheek. “Thanks, mama.”

She bats at his arm. “Yes, yes, now go do something. Go into town. Here.” She gives Lance the keys to the truck, and he takes them and kisses he cheek once more. 

“We’ll be back before dinner.”

“You better be! We still need help with the hayride route.”

He grabs Keith’s arm and pulls him out of the chair; the seat scraping the floor with their movement.

Suddenly, he feels lighter, as if the night before was a distant memory and his lack of sleep is a thing of the past. All he can think about is Keith and the fact that it’s his  _ birthday _ . 

“Where are we going?” Keith’s wrists are thick and strong, evidence of hard work and training that Lance can’t even begin to imagine. Lance can’t remember the last time he picked up a gun - actually, he does. When Keith crash landed into their field. 

He smiles because it’s a  _ good  _ memory. 

Kosmo lifts his head from where he’s lying on the porch, looking at them before lying back down. Lance looks at him and then at the spaceship that sits in the truck's way. 

“You’re gonna need to move that.”

Keith is looking at the hand on his wrist, eyes distant. Lance tugs on his arm and Keith shakes his head and comes out of his reverie. “Hm?”

“The ship? In the way of the truck?”

“Oh. Right.” 

Lance lets go of his wrist and Keith goes back to the ship, moving it over so the truck has more room to leave the long dirt driveway. 

There’s a moment of clarity as Lance looks at Keith flying the space shuttle, that he realizes that he misses it - the thrill, the rush of flying. It’s been more than a year since he’s flown a ship. It was his dream - but he hasn’t let himself think about his time at the Garrison or why he was even there. 

Narrowing his eyes, he thinks about what it would be like now. Is it like riding a bicycle? Or is it something that you forgets after a long period of time?

Is it another thing he has to physically try to remember, the same way he has to physically try to remember what colour Allura’s eyes are or the sound of her laugh?

When they get into the truck Lance is quiet. 

Keith looks at him but says nothing. 

He wishes he would say something, if only so Lance can think about  _ Keith Keith Keith _ , instead of Allura and how she’s  _ gone gone gone.  _

 

They don’t live that far away from the city, but far enough that a forty-five minute drive feels like an eternity. And sitting in silence with Keith when it’s obvious they both want to say something? Feels harrowing in a way that Lance can’t wholly describe without it lacking somehow. Like standing at the bottom of a pit, like wandering the desert, like living in that crude shack that Keith use to call home.

All these metaphors and Lance still feels like that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the two of them.

When the houses make way for skyscrapers and heavier traffic Lance almost breathes a sigh of relief. People and aliens mill about, walking along the sidewalk and Lance feels something give way in his chest. Relief, maybe, at seeing the hustle and bustle of the city. 

Keith stuffs his hands in his pockets, looks bored and perturbed. If Lance didn’t know any better, he would think that he is, but his barely-there smile convinces him otherwise. Lance feels giddy, his heart doing impressive somersaults in his chest when he grabs at the supple leather of his jacket and tugs him in the direction he wants. 

“Where are we going?”

Lance smiles, turning to Keith. “You’ll see.”

He wants Keith to have a good time, but still be comfortable - he wants him to exercise his competitiveness while still having fun. 

They stop in front of the dingy looking storefront, the neon sign bright - the ' _ e'  _ at the end flashes every now and again but Lance couldn’t be happier. 

Keith speaks beside him, “an arcade.” But Lance can hear the smile in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

“Yeah. I’m going to kick your ass at Street Fighter, just you wait.”

 

Lance does  _ not _ kick Keith’s ass at Street Fighter. He  beats him at air hockey, then Keith beats him at whack a mole. Lance wins at DDR, though that's no surprise. Then things get a little fuzzy on the details but he insists that it’s all tied up by the end of the hour. 

They’re sitting at one of the grimy tables but Lance doesn’t care that his feet stick to the floor or that there’s no way his hands can touch the surface without his hands coming back sticky. 

He’s never been happier to be at a grungy arcade that’s seen better days with Keith, their pockets stuffed to bursting with tickets, just like his chest feels like it’s stuffed to bursting with happiness. 

“It’s-” Keith starts, then stops, picking up the cup of Sprite and sticking the straw in his mouth as if he’s trying to stop himself from speaking, working out an equation, adding and subtracting words to create the perfect sentence. 

Lance leans forward, ignoring the flashing lights and loud sounds the other games are making around them. It feels like they’re the only two people in the world, and Keith has Lance’s undivided attention, always has. 

“Hm?” He leans forward more, and Keith leans back in his chair, face turning away from Lance - face red and eyes darting to the sticky floor. 

“Keith?”

“It’s my birthday.”

The sounds of the arcade come back louder to him, and Lance feels the base of the music like an earthquake in his body. 

“Happy birthday, Keith.”

Keith looks flustered, glaring down at the ground before letting his eyes rise to meet Lance’s, a wobbly smile on his face like he’s trying to keep it under wraps. Lance sees it, and it looks so good on Keith’s face that if he didn’t know any better, he would think it was like a fluorescent light bulb, blinding in its intensity. “Thanks.”

The chair creaks when Lance leans back, grinning like he’s somehow won the lottery, and then he’s leaning too far, arms pinwheeling and there’s a second of free falling where he closes his eyes, bracing for impact with the gross arcade floor. 

Then it stops. 

He opens his eyes and sees Keith above him, his arms wrap around Lance, so close that Lance can see the stormy grey of his eyes and each eyelash that fans around them. He looks at his cheekbones and the one scar, and at the bow of his lips before he has to drag his eyes back to Keith’s own.

God, he’s beautiful. 

“Thanks for the save, man.” He says, breathless. Looking at Keith this close is like looking directly into the sun, but for the life of him, he can’t look away. 

Keith gazes across his face, getting stuck on what he thinks is his mouth, but he could never be that hopeful. “No problem. 

They right themselves, staring at each other for a moment. A child somewhere screams in laughter, and the spell is broken, and Lance  _ freaks _ . 

“Uh! So! Gotta get you a present, huh? Let's go to the stall and see what kind of things we can get for these tickets.” He power walks to the attendant working the register. She’s popping her gum and has her eyes rimmed in black but Lance is adamantly focusing on her and not on the way Keith’s hair always seems to fall so artfully across his forehead, or the way his nose scrunches up when he eats food he’s unfamiliar with, or the way he smirks when he wins at a game.

Lance doesn’t think about any other those things because that would mean that he’s being a creep, and Lance is  _ not _ a creep. He looks at Keith a normal amount and doesn’t imagine holding his hand again.  

The attendant raises one thin eyebrow at Lance, unaware of the tribulations he’s going through. “Sir?”

“Right, sorry.” He hands her the tickets and tries to tell his traitorous heart to calm down. 

It does no such thing. 

_ Fucking hell _ . 

He scans the prizes, thinking that maybe Nadia or Sylvio would like a present, but they have so many toys already that get touched once before being donated. A yo-yo would get tangled, and a slapstick bracelet is boring and outdated. He keeps scanning the rows when his eyes land on - 

“How many tickets for the black lion?”

“Forty tickets.”

He slams everything down. “Is this enough?”

She scans the tickets before feeding them into a machine. It ticks over and over, counting every single ticket - and then it stops, and he’s short five. 

“Can I give you five bucks?”

“Sorry sir, tickets only.” She points to a sign that says just that -  _ tickets for prizes only _ . 

He frowns. And then turns to the girl working the counter, smarmy smile in place. “Not even… for a paladin of Voltron?”

She stares at him then pops her gum. “Not even for a  _ former  _ paladin of Voltron.”

_Ouch,_ he thinks. She doesn’t have to put emphasis on _that_ part. 

“What are you looking at?” Keith is beside him and Lance jumps about a foot into the air, mind still stuck on his eyes and eyelashes, the way his lips parted when he caught Lance. It’s probably the only thing he’ll think of for the next week, but for all Lance knows it might be insignificant to Keith. 

“Do you need more tickets?” He reaches into his pocket and hands some to Lance, and Lance pouts and pushes them back. 

“No, I - I’m handling it.”

“If you need some extra tickets, I’ll lend you some-”

“No, it’s - it’s  _ fine _ , Keith.” The girl is leaning against the counter, watching them like a tennis match, back and forth.

“What’s the issue? If you’re short, I can lend you some.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what  _ is _ the issue, Lance? Your pride?”

“The issue is that I want to give you a present!” Humiliation, hot and humid, drives through him, and he notices, not for the first time, that Keith is the same height as him now. He only notices this because when they used to argue he would use his height to his advantage, glaring down at Keith to intimidate the other. 

But there’s none of that now, because instead of arguing  _ just because _ he feels awful for raising his voice, and not even for a good reason. He wants to give Keith a present, and he wants to do it  _ himself _ . 

There is silence. Lance feels like he can’t breathe and Keith looks like someone hit  _ pause _ he’s standing so still. 

Then Keith slams down his own tickets. “That one, please.”

“Wait - wait, dude, come on-”

“Here.” There’s something being shoved into his chest, and Lance fumbles for it, until the cute face of a red lion plush is staring back at him. 

He looks at Keith, feeling a suspicious heat behind his eyes because  _ fuck _ this dude. Honestly,  _ fuck _ this guy and how kind he is. How dare he make Lance feel like life is wonderful. 

“But it’s your birthday.” He chokes out, voice broken and watery. Keith either doesn’t notice it or elects to ignore it to let Lance save face. Keith just shrugs, a small smile on his face.

“Just being here is enough.”

And  _ holy shit _ it’s like someone took a bat to his head he’s reeling, dizzy with giddiness. Lance shoves at Keith and Keith shoves him back. Lance is so used to seeing his face red that he’s starting to think that there could be no other colour - it looks good on him, that rapturous red that gives away how happy he is. 

Lance takes a second to take all of Keith in. The longer hair, the scar on his face, the new jacket and slim pants. He looks so grown up, but he’s here anyway, in an arcade with Lance, enjoying himself on his birthday, and giving Lance gifts because  _ that’s what he wants to do _ . 

And Lance thinks he could do this all the time; spend time with Keith,  _ be  _ with Keith if he wasn’t so scared to feel something other than misery. Happiness is a foreign invader, it seems, but Keith makes him want to surrender to it - makes Lance think he could throw out that white flag and not feel bad about it. 

_ I could do it _ , he thinks.  _ I could fall in love with you _ . 

 

Keith is looking at his own black lion plush before he puts it back on the dashboard where the red lion plush sits. They stand side by side and it’s a sight to behold. Lance had violently whacked moles to buy the rest of the tickets he needed and instead of a fun gift to Keith it felt like - 

Well, it felt like a  _ date _ . 

But he ignores that part. 

The sun is setting, and instead of driving back to his parents' place Lance has a moment of spontaneity. He jerks the wheel to the right, driving down a narrow dirt road that can hardly contain the size of the truck - the car shaking and jumping along the roots of trees and rocks. 

“What the hell, Lance. You trying to get us killed?”

But his heart feels too full and too happy that he keeps his eyes straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel at ten and two. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

Keith shuts up, and Lance feels his face turn red because it feels like he’s revealing too much of himself right now - taking Keith out, then taking him to a secluded spot just to watch the sunset? 

It’s like he’s already wormed his way into his heart, but into his life now too? Into every fiber of his being? Lance can’t go a second without thinking about the other, and it’s driving him crazy, considering all that time he’s spent trying to mourn his first love, and here comes the second. 

He stops the car, the sound of waves reaching his ears. 

“The beach?” Keith looks at him, one thick eyebrow raising in curiosity. Lance has the indescribable urge to smooth it down, wants to touch the plains of his face just to commit it to memory, so he grips the wheel even tighter, leather creaking. 

“Yeah. It’s my favourite place in the world. Used to come here all the time.”

“What about Varadero beach?” 

He loves Varadero beach. The sun, the sea, the salt in the air. Varadero is laughter; surfing and sandcastles. 

“Varadero is about fun. This place -” 

Hours of sitting and crying after his first breakup, of strolling and collecting seashells and sand dollars - hours of watching his abuela paint the landscape and allowing Lance to draw crude little seagulls in the corner. 

“This place is quiet.”

Keith gets out of the car, and Lance watches him. He watches as Keith stumbles along the fine sand in his heavy boots. He watches him reach the edge of the water and stare out into the horizon; the breeze blowing and making Keith’s longer hair dance around him in black waves. 

Lance, transfixed, thinks to himself  _ yeah, with time, I could fall in love with him _ . 

 

“When will you be back?”

“A month, maybe two.”

Lance tries not to feel sick at that.

“Well,” he starts, voice wavering, “don’t be a stranger.”

The determined set of his brow makes Lance smile, taking a closer step to Keith and eyes gazing across that familiar scowl. “I’ll message you. As often as possible.”

Lance, with a shaky hand, takes hold of Keith’s hand, grounding himself with the touch alone. Keith squeezes back, his eyes soft and understanding. Lance squeezes back, hoping to convey everything he wishes he could say with the gesture.

“Stay safe.” He settles on, hoping it’s enough.

“I will.”

Keith leaves with a little cupcake in a tupperware container and the black lion plush in his hand. Lance waves him off, wishing he would stay for longer than a day, wishing he would have the courage to ask Keith to wait for him without feeling selfish. 

 

Christmas is a family affair like it always is, and Lance wakes up to the sound of knocking on his window - the clock has ticked over into 2 AM. It’s Christmas today. 

He turns and shakes his head. He’s seeing things. Hearing things. 

“ _ Keith _ ?”  _ He’s back _ . His head goes through a mantra.  _ He’s back, he’s back, he’s back. _

Keith stands on the slanted roof, tapping on Lance’s window, shivering in the snow. Lance leaps out of his bed and opens the window. Keith crawls in, dirty feet landing on Lance’s bedspread and he lets out an indignant huff of irritation. 

“Take your shoes off, you animal.”

Keith ignores him, sitting on Lance’s bed and looking windswept and beautiful. His hair is a mess, but that’s become common practice it seems like, and Lance wouldn’t have it any other way. Keith leans back, pulling out something from his pocket and holding it out to Lance, face set in a scowl that doesn’t distract from how red he looks. 

“Merry Christmas.”

Lance stares at the present. It’s small, a little thing, sloppy wrapping making him smile. “Did you wrap this yourself?”

“Yeah.”

Lance takes it and feels the uneven edges and the  _ too much tape _ . “It’s terrible.”

Keith bristles. “Well, I’ve never wrapped anything before so cut me some slack!”

Laughter peels out of him, but he’s being too loud so Lance cover’s Keith’s mouth, eyes tearing up with happiness. 

Eventually, his laughter dies down, and he shifts closer to Keith, a gravitational pull that brings him near. They bump shoulders and Lance, with a surge of courage, lets his forehead fall on his shoulder. 

Keith tenses, then relaxes at the contact, a shaky hand coming up - before falling back down. Lance frowns and leans back - Keith’s face looks sad, and he tries to think what he did to make such a look cross his face. Was it because he made fun of the wrapping? Is he uncomfortable with this contact? 

He doesn’t want to ask, he’s afraid of the answer. 

“Can I open it?”

“It’s for you, isn’t it?”

Lance tears into the packaging. The wrapping falls onto his bed and the box rattles when he shifts. For a second he stares at it, trying to decipher the sound and what could be inside it. He lets his eyes wander back to Keith, who looks nervous, hands in his pockets. 

He lifts the lid and looks down inside. 

“It’s -”

“A mixtape.”

And it is. Lance lifts the small cassette tape into his hands. This technology is ancient -

“Hold on, give it here.”

Keith takes the mixtape from Lance’s hands and fiddles with it, until something pops out of the side. It’s also a USB stick?

“You can plug it into a computer or - or you can just use it as a cassette - it’s - Pidge said it was neat so I - I thought you might like it, since you like music, I think.”

Lance takes the cassette back, turning it over in his hands, then slides the USB back into his compartment. 

A mixtape. Keith made him a  _ mixtape _ .

That’s something you would do if you  _ liked _ someone, right? He’s not crazy to think that, right? 

“Are you -” Keith glances at him, and all Lance can think is that Keith went out of his way to put songs onto this thing. He may have spent hours making sure that every song he put on it were something that Lance might like. It’s thoughtful, it’s great. Lance wants to fucking  _ cry _ . “Are you happy?”

He turns to him, eyes hot and warm and ready to overflow with tears. It’s an odd question to ask - like the question is serving a multitude of purposes. Is Lance happy? At this moment, he’s never been so happy - it’s brimming in his body, making his limbs shake and shiver with a light he didn’t know he could contain. 

Other times it’s like he’s numb - getting by with the skin of his teeth, every day like the last - some days are better than others, and some days he goes to bed and he can’t remember what he even did that day, as if it were all a blur. 

Today though.  _ Today  _ though. 

“I’m happy, Keith.” He wipes a stray tear that falls down his face. “I’m so fucking happy. Thank you.”

More tears spill over, and Lance lets them, knowing a losing battle when he feels one. Some fall onto the comforter, leaving spots in their wake. 

“Why are you crying?” 

How can Lance say that he’s happy that Keith is here? That he’s happy that Keith makes Lance feel like his life isn’t one black hole and that he’s falling in love with him. How can he tell him that the fire in his belly is stoked by his presence, by the things he does?

How can he tell him he feels these things, but still needs more time?

“I’m happy your here.” More tears fall, and Lance is afraid that he’ll wake up his family, when a tentative hand touches his face, wiping some tears that gather at the edge of his eyes. He’s touching the marks and for a moment Lance can feel them - aware of their place on his cheeks. They dimly glow for a moment, like fireflies out of the corner of his eyes before going dark again.

Keith looks so sad, so goddamn sad, and Lance reaches out to hold the hand on his face like it’s a life preserver - drowning in the ocean of confusion and hurt he’s made himself. 

Christmas is a time for family - and Keith has given him this incredible present, and all he can think about is Allura and how she would love snow, love the traditions, the baking, the carols, and the entire concept. But he never got to show her, and now all he has is a ghost of a memory - all he has are theories about what she would or wouldn’t like. 

_ Fuck _ ,  _ why do I keep doing this? _

He can’t help himself, apparently, taking one good thing and destroying it. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He nods, feeling Keith wipe more and more tears away. They’re closer than before. Lance is lying against the headboard with Keith sitting beside him and holding his cheeks like he’s a precious and fragile thing. 

God, he hates this; he hates how sad he is and how he feels like he’s fine china. Keith’s touch keeps him together, holding him and it makes Lance - fuck it makes Lance want to kiss him. 

“Could you stay, for a little while?”

Keith leans his forehead against Lance’s, and it shouldn’t feel like that small gesture could set him on fire but it  _ does _ . Everywhere Keith is touching him feels like fire, like hot embers against his skin, and Lance wants to be consumed by it. 

“Yeah. I’ll stay.”

Keith stays. He stays when there are no more tears, and they’re lying in the too small bed, facing each other, legs tangled and foreheads touching. Lance has never felt such peace. 

When he wakes up next, his face is in Keith’s chest, and that chest is breathing and warm underneath him. Keith looks calm, asleep like this, and Lance - well Lance grabs his phone and takes a picture, hiding it away so he could look at it again when Keith's gone and the ache of missing him becomes too much.

The rooster crows and he feels Keith stir. “Hey.”

Lance looks up at him, hearing the sleepy voice and feeling a deep blush creep onto his face, because that voice - it’s good, it’s too goddamn good and sounds too wonderful. Lance could wake up to this every morning and he would be happy. 

He pushes his face back into Keith’s chest, breathing in his scent and shivering, muffling his  _ good morning _ into the skin that's exposed, shirt stretched and collar loose. 

A hand goes to his hair and smoothes out the flyaways and strays there. Lance feels it and wants to fall back asleep, the motion soothing. 

“I need to get back to the base.” It’s said into the quiet of the morning. Lance leans back and looks at Keith, at his stormy eyes and the red crease from the pillow on his face and his disheveled hair and eyebrows and already misses him. Snow falls behind him through the window, and Lance knows he’s needed somewhere else, he  _ knows _ Keith is trying to help the universe. 

He wishes he could go with him. 

 

Watching Keith leave is hard. He watches from the porch, the ship kicking up the snow, creating a whirlwind around him. When it lifts off and out of sight Lance runs back inside, ignoring his family’s protests, up the stairs and into his room. The mixtape is sitting on his bedside table. He fumbles as he plugs the USB into his laptop on his desk. 

Lance listens to his mixtape and the ache of missing Keith eases if only slightly. 

 

It’s nearing midnight, and Lance - well Lance is being boring. 

He’s in his bedroom, listening to his mixtape like he has for the past week and feeling sorry for himself. He hates how much he misses Allura, and he hates how much he misses Keith, and he lets himself miss two people simultaneously. 

It’s been easier, he thinks. He loves Allura, and he thinks he always will, but he  _ wants  _ to fall for Keith - he wants it so bad that he can almost taste it. 

A boisterous laugh emanates from downstairs. The former Paladins of Voltron are here, and so are some other Atlas members - because Veronica is home and she’s happy and is a nosy sister that wants what’s best for Lance, and having his friends here makes him - well it makes things better. It’s as if a small campfire is in his chest, keeping him warm. 

He gets up and leaves his room, the sound of the party louder now he’s not hidden away. Veronica is talking to Axca, leaning into her and holding her hand - then stops when she sees Lance, eyes wide. 

“Uh.” Lance says, ever so eloquent. 

“Um.” Veronica follows up with. 

They stare at each other before Axca coughs into her hand. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

And then she’s walking down the stairs, and Lance is left with his sister and the knowledge that he doesn’t know his sister as well as he thought he did. 

The champagne flute in her hand trembles, and then she downs it in one go, standing tall and resolute as if facing an insurmountable obstacle. Lance waits for her to find her words because at least it gives him time to find his own too. 

“I - so Axca and I - we are, you know… dating…”

Lance shakes his head and waves his arms. “Hold on, wait a second. I thought - well I thought -”

What did Lance think? 

“I never liked Keith -” then she smiles a devilish thing and Lance takes a step back, “that’s you.”

His eyes bulge. “I -”

“I better get back to the party.”

 

Lance is watching Pidge and Hunk drink and laugh together. He’s sitting on the couch and watching the ball and the time and the hosts and wishing that Keith were here. He’s also thinking about his sister and Axca, who are standing close together, hands around each other and looking into each other’s eyes like there’s no one else in the world. It’s a little embarrassing to see, but Lance can’t look away - because Veronica is radiating a certain happiness that Lance can only hope to achieve. 

She’s happy - she’s in  _ love _ , and Axca loves her  _ back _ , and Lance is witness to this, this union that leaves him speechless and warm. She’s happy. So he’s happy - if not a little jealous because he wants that too, but something is always stopping him. 

_ It’s me _ , he thinks,  _ I’m stopping myself from being happy _ . 

“Hey.”

Shiro lands onto the couch with an impressive huff, knocking Lance out of his dark thoughts. He scoots closer to the edge of the chair because he still doesn’t really know how to act around that weird arm without making a fool of himself. 

“Hey, Shiro. Happy new year.”

“Happy new year, Lance.”

Then there’s silence and Lance taps his fingers on the arm of the couch - tries to keep himself from saying something stupid - like asking about Keith, or inferring that he wants Keith here, or anything involving Keith, because Shiro is already privy to  _ too much _ when it comes to things Lance and Keith.

The older man fiddles with his glass, amber beer swirling and bubbling when he turns to Lance, mouth set in a grim line. “Do you want to be in my wedding party?”

Then he stops tapping and turns to Shiro, mouth gaping. “You’re getting  _ married? _ ”

The floating hand shushes him, and Lance sees Shiro look around and sigh when he realizes everyone is too busy drinking and laughing to notice their conversation. 

“I haven’t… asked yet. But I’m hopeful.” He shrugs, and Lance looks at Shiro -  _ really _ looks at him and thinks about what he’s gone through. He deserves to be happy. 

“I’m happy for you Shiro. Of course I’ll be in your wedding party.” 

The human hand rubs the back of his neck, bashful in a way that throws Lance - he’s so used to seeing Shiro as the confident captain, the man who knows what to do and when to do it. It’s like their time with Voltron didn’t allow him time to be himself, and now that there’s no war this is the real Shiro, the one that Keith was lucky to call a brother. 

_ Shit _ ,  _ don’t think about Keith _ . 

“Is Keith your best man?”  _ Fuck _ . 

“I’m planning on asking him. But I’m thinking it might be a lot. Do you think you could help him?”

“Of course.” Lance is made for parties, and for Shiro? He will blow it out of the water. 

“A minute until midnight everyone!” Marco is holding his champagne flute and has his hand around the waist of some alien girl that Lance has never seen before. The house is full of people he only kind of knows, and the handful of people he  _ knows _ are already in pairs. Even Pidge is with Romelle, who looks totally out of depth but happy, a little tipsy and laughing. 

There’s a knock at the door, and his mother is about to leave his father's side when Lance jumps up, needing a reason to leave, feeling sick at the prospect of being alone. “I’ll get it!”

Then the countdown begins and Lance lets himself feel that black hole in his stomach like an old friend. 

The doorbell rings and he frowns, irritation prickling along his nerves. “Jeez, I’m coming!”

He opens the door and stops. 

“Hey, Lance. Happy new year.”

Keith is standing in front of him, puffy jacket over his Blade suit - the ship is behind him, tilted, as if Keith had rushed to get to the door and hadn’t bothered to watch where he was going - Lance feels his chest tighten. 

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.” 

In the living room, Lance hears every shout, counting down from ten. 

He feels tears prick at his eyes and rubs them quickly because he will _ not  _ be doing that. 

“What - I thought -” What about the Blades? Keith is turning them into a humanitarian organization, he’s needed elsewhere - he can’t - 

“Doesn’t matter. I wanted to be here.”

“Here?” 

“With you.”

From the living room the shouts crescendo, everyone screaming and yelling out “happy new years!”

Lance looks at Keith, with the snow falling down outside and thinks to himself. 

_ I want to get better.  _

Then he leans forward, hands softly gripping at Keith’s face, and kisses him. 

Keith’s hands settle on Lance’s hips, and he shivers at the contact. Their lips glide and move against each other until he comes back to himself, stepping away from Keith with a flush to his face. They’re both breathing hard, as if that kiss were a marathon - his heart is beating so loudly that Lance can’t hear whatever is going on in the living room, the racket and noise a far-off place compared to Keith and the way he shuffles and coughs into his fist like he’s trying to compose himself. 

“Happy new year, Keith,” Lance says, a whisper. 

Keith takes that final step across the threshold, his hand finding Lance’s and squeezing tight and Lance  _ burns _ . 

“Happy new year, Lance.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey, vld, wtf was that?
> 
> Anyway, I'm in mourning, and I'm just trying to make sense of all this garbage man. 
> 
> Should I continue this, or leave it as a one off?


End file.
